


Judgement Day

by MonsterBrush



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Imperators - Freeform, It comes with artwork, Joe Roasting, Original Characters - Freeform, post-joe citadel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26942299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterBrush/pseuds/MonsterBrush
Summary: Two Imperators join the post-Joe Citadel.
Kudos: 16





	Judgement Day

**Author's Note:**

> A look into a pair of Imperators who aren't completely made of shit, almost decent men really, and their assimilation into the new Citadel.

Judge hadn’t needed a wake up call in years. His circadian rhythm was set in stone, a convenience he knew better than to take for granted in this age where clocks and alarms that woke you on a schedule were a thing of the past. He woke with the dawn as soon as the light of day crept between the slats of his meager window, a glorified hole carved in the wall with iron ventilation slats fit over it to be closed when needed. He needed to wake early to rouse the crews and attend to his duties, as he’d done every day for decades now. The job got harder on his joints every year. 

His day began the same way it had every morning for decades now.

On went the heavy belt with the steel Immortan’s insignia and its dangling chains. On went the bulky boots with the steel toes and iron spikes to keep desperate Wretcheds from dragging him off the damn lift by his ankles. He applied his grease next, peering into the cracked, dusty mirror hung on the opposite wall. He didn’t bother wiping it down, it was still clear enough for him to see his grease, and that was good enough for him. He knew what he looked like, he didn’t need to see it everyday. The black leather cowl of the lift guardians he tucked under one arm as he left, locking the door to his private living quarters behind him.

Things were quiet, now more than ever. So many men missing from their bunks, dead or lost to the fury road. Less men to wake, some of them bastards, but a damn shame regardless. Judge considered the remaining Boys lucky the women up top saw the good sense in letting them up rather than leave the Citadel undefended. Those Boys were the Citadel’s greatest defense. The wastes knew to give War Boys a wide berth. If nothing else, the new rule had thus far benefitted from Furiosa’s expertise, from what Judge could tell. 

He hadn’t seen much from the women supposedly in charge since the War Boys returned, but Furiosa’s influence was apparent, so Judge felt it safe to assume that she hadn’t died yet from the injuries she’d gotten on the road. The new women and the wives wouldn’t have known to find him if Furiosa hadn’t told them about him first. Hell, they wouldn't have even known to look for him. He wasn’t exactly a lynchpin in the machine of the Citadel. 

He manned the lift in the mornings, sorting who could come up and who couldn’t, and he ran The Pit in the evenings. Every couple nights or so he organized a recreational event of nonlethal fighting for sport or grudge that Judge first organized when the Citadel’s numbers began to swell. It functioned as a sort of entertainment and peacekeeping method, and folks had liked it well enough that he’d been running it ever since. 

His spare time was dedicated to training War Boys in acts of both lethal and recreational combat, teaching them the laws that The Pit demanded, settling disputes, hosting fights, and generally just keeping the men from killing each other. He avoided working the supply chains and politics that governed the Citadel, choosing instead to serve the men who died protecting it. Joe had no complaints when he'd been alive. Judge kept the troops in order, kept them entertained, kept them orderly, and that was duty enough for him. 

As such, Judge hadn’t been on the road in years, and he hadn’t gone the day Joe cleared out going after his “wives”. Joe hadn’t noticed his absence, Judge was sure of that. Joe had a habit of letting things slip through the cracks when he fixated on something. Like leaving the Citadel defenseless, armed only with a ragtag mix of burnt out War Boys, pups, and the lowest ranking Imperators. It seemed his recklessness had finally, _finally_ caught up with him, and no amount of men running damage control behind the scenes could have saved him this time. Joe was finally dead, and Judge had no tears to shed for the monster his old friend had become. Besides, he was far too busy dealing with the potential shit show of the new management. 

The day the Citadel changed hands, a pup had been sent to The Pit to fetch him. 

Those women were smart, sending a child instead of coming for him themselves. He was one of the last higher ranking Imperators left behind, one of the last pillars of leftover authority at the time, before the survivors from the canyon returned. 

So Judge followed the pup across the bridges to the Immortan’s Tower where the women had sequestered themselves, expecting full well to be led into a trap. He was pleasantly surprised by the lack of bullets being sent his way despite the guns that were leveled at his chest the moment he rounded the corner. Of course, they might have held their fire for the pup’s benefit. 

Judge had never met the wives before. Not this batch, and not the batch that came before them either. Joe went through women fast, and Judge had stopped paying attention years ago. The wives still wore the white linens Joe festooned them in, supplemented with pragmatic boots and trousers. Judge couldn’t remember the names Joe had given these women, but he knew one was missing and it wasn’t hard to figure why. Died on the road, without a doubt. 

The remaining wives wore expressions of poorly concealed fear and naked distrust, eyeing him like they might a venomous snake, debating whether to risk stepping within striking distance to stomp on its skull before it could bite. The smallest of them wore a scowl as she looked at him, a familiar chrome pistol held tightly in one small fist, like she’d already made up her mind on whether or not to stomp him. She was brave enough to look him in the eyes, if nothing else. 

Accompanying them was a group of women Judge had never seen before. Outsiders with guns. Old, weathered, experienced, and willing to drop him dead at the first sign of trouble. They were dangerous, and, well, he wasn’t about to give them a reason to shred him. He’d seen Joe’s corpse be thrown to the Wretched, and he knew a change in leadership was in order. Corpus Colossus had already surrendered and Judge didn’t know where they’d put him, or if they had even kept him alive at all. 

“What’s your allegiance?” one of the older women croaked, her finger hovering over the trigger of the rifle she wielded. 

“Whoever’s in charge next,” Judge had replied. It wasn’t a difficult decision for him to make. 

“Can ya prove it?” Another woman asked. 

“You need my help, just ask and I’ll be there,” he'd told them, to a derisive scoff from the wife with hair so blonde it looked almost white. She didn't believe him, and he didn't blame her. 

“I’m gonna keep doing what I do. Furiosa knows where I’m at. Door’s unlocked. If you’re gonna come and shoot me in my sleep, at least do me the courtesy of knocking first.” And with that, Judge turned his back on the guns and left. 

The first night of the Citadel’s new reign, Judge sat upright in his bed with his back against the unforgiving stone, to the dismay of his stiffening joints, watching the door for as long as he could keep his weary eyes open. 

That following morning, he missed the dawn for the first time in over a decade.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Judge wasn’t bothered by the new rule directly. After the first few nights, Judge began to make peace with the fact that he was being left to his own devices for the time being. The only interaction he’d had with the women in charge since being summoned had been through the pups they sent him. Older pups, usually. It was too great a walk for the younger ones, going from the Immortan’s Tower to the War Tower. Judge wasn’t invited to the Immortan’s Tower again.

Days passed. He wasn’t asked his opinion on the straggling War Boys that gradually made their way back to the Citadel. The decision to let them up was made without his input, and delivered by an older pup, a greenhorn, just barely too young to have followed his brothers to war, but the decision suited his opinion just fine. They needed to reclaim their vehicles and men, the Citadel had stood too empty for too long. Buzzards were starting to circle them in the wastes. 

Surviving Imperators returned, and Judge’s loyalty was tested for the first time. Imperator Secundus, his right arm in a makeshift sling looking rather worse for wear, and Imperator Gemini, surrounded by his crew, his black dust wrap pulled up over his mouth and nose.

“What do ya think about those two?” One of the old women, Mel, Judge thought her name was, asked him conversationally as they looked down at the gathered War Boys waiting for the lift. Judge growled thoughtfully for a moment. Their eyes were on him, waiting expectantly for him to lower the lift.

“Hm. Secundus is a problem. He’ll cause trouble. He was very comfortable with the old rules. Gemini though… He’s smart. Very smart. But he’ll roll over,” Judge said finally, confident in his assessment. Mel chuckled softly beside him, standing just out of sight of the men below.

“That’s how Furiosa put it,” she told him, and Judge realized then that he’d passed her test. Mel already knew the answer to her question, she had just wanted to see if his judgement matched hers, and it had.

“What’s the play here?” Judge asked sternly, ignoring this revelation for the time being as he fixed his gaze on the men below him.

“Let them up. Separate the Imperators from their Boys. Send us Secundus first, and keep it discreet,” Mel replied. 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Mel slapped his arm with the back of her hand and barked out a dry laugh, stepping away from the edge and disappearing into the tunnels. With a wave of his arm, he commanded the lift into action. War Boys clung to their vehicles and crowded the platform, chasing off any bold Wretcheds who dared to join them, eager to be home. 

A closed fist signalled the lift to stop when it reached the top as Judge stood in the path of the vehicles, blocking the road to the garages. He sucked in a breath and steeled his expression into something stonier than his usual look. 

“Imperator Secundus!” he thundered, his voice carrying throughout the cavern over the noise of the War Boys and treadmills around them. “Corpus Colossus wants to see you.”

Secundus disembarked with a scowl. From this close Judge could see the familiar marks of roadrash coloring his side under the sling on his arm. He’d fallen on the road but survived, and judging by the look on his face, he wasn’t pleased. 

“Is Corpus in charge then?” He demanded, sauntering as much as his injuries would allow, already brushing past Judge dismissively. He was second only to Imperator Prime, and Judge had a nagging suspicion that Prime hadn’t made it home for a reason. That made Secundus the highest ranking Imperator at the Citadel. 

“He is the Immortan’s heir,” Judge answered steadily. 

“Where’s Furiosa?” Secundus asked next, his tone wrought with suspicion. “I know she arrived before us. Where is she?” He didn’t trust Judge’s word, that much was clear, not that Judge could blame him, knowing what he knew. 

“Injured from the road war. Corpus has her.”

“The Wretched are saying that bitch is in charge,” Secundus snarled, fixing Judge with a glare.

“Yeah. I’ve heard them from all the way up here,” Judge agreed. “They’ve been trying to come up too. Thinking they can overthrow Corpus if enough of them force their way in before our War Boys return. I wouldn’t listen to them,” he advised. Secundus grunted vaguely in acknowledgement, but he didn’t seem entirely convinced.

“And the Wives?” 

“In the Vault, where they belong,” Judge said, feeling his frown deepen despite himself as he busied himself with watching the War Boys unload their vehicles and prepare to head to the garages. 

“Don’t know what they were thinking. Corpus better not let them live. Better yet, he should give ‘em to us,” Secundus growled as he headed for the tunnels, and Judge could barely keep from scowling in disgust as he left. If nothing else, perhaps Secundus would believe himself capable of betraying Corpus himself and usurping the Citadel from him, rather than suspect Corpus was not in charge as Judge had said. That’s what Judge would expect from the man. He always did hate being second to Prime. Being second to Corpus was bound to rile his insufferable ego even further. But he was headed where he was meant to go, and that was all that mattered.

With Secundus out of the way, Judge directed his attention to the War Boys waiting patiently for him to step aside and allow them to head for the garages. There was confusion on their sparsely painted faces. Carefully guarded fear. But they knew better than to question him. If an Imperator was standing in their way, he had a reason for it. Judge could appreciate that unquestioning loyalty for now. It made his job easier. 

“Secundus’s crew, you are free to head to the garages. Wait there until we fetch you.” Judge stepped aside and let their vehicle pass. He saw relaxed shoulders and bravado at being the first to be let through while other crews were made to wait longer at the lift. Judge stepped back into the path after they passed, turning to face the remaining War Boys and their vehicle.

“Imperator Gemini,” Judge addressed next, seeing him stand up just a little bit straighter. Judge couldn’t see much of his expression behind the dust wrap, but his crew made Gemini’s feelings clear. They were tense, gathered close to their Imperator, waiting for Judge’s hammer to fall. “You wait here with your crew,” Judge said, his tone that of complete authority. 

He saw Gemini’s eyes narrow, his brows creasing subtly as he shoved his way out of his crew’s defensive huddle to join Judge on the ground. 

Gemini’s crew lead, an ugly fucker by the name of Scratch, followed close on his heels like an obedient mutt, staring at Judge with blatant distrust, his head low and his shoulders tense. He was an older War Boy, a testament to lucky blueprints and a luckier survival rate. His face and body was an impressive latticework of scar tissue, old injuries from a blade overlapping one another like he’d come out of every fight he’d ever had with something to show for it. The most impressive of his scars spanned across his throat. He’d survived a cut meant to kill. 

“Go mind your crew, Scratch,” Judge growled low, roughening his already gravelly voice in warning. He could tell from experience that Scratch’s right arm was itching for one of the many knives strapped to his legs, but a look from Gemini stayed his hand. 

“Go on, Scratch. I’ll be fine,” Gemini whispered, and with visible reluctance Scratch retreated to the truck his crew manned, his eyes never leaving them. Loyal to a fault. He only listened to Gemini.

Safely out of earshot so long as they spoke low, Gemini turned to Judge. “Corpus isn’t actually in charge, is he?” He asked. 

Judge watched him carefully. Gemini wasn’t the highest ranking Imperator, but he’d been one of Joe’s favorites, and of course he’d be one of the men to survive the fury road unscathed. Born lucky, that one. Behind that dust wrap hid a sinfully handsome face. Smooth, unblemished skin. Dimpled cheeks. A chiseled jaw. And his eyes were a stunning, glittering green. In his youth he’d been as lovely as the wives in his own right.

Joe had loved beauty, loved to surround himself with beautiful people, loved to control them. Man or woman, both had their place under Joe. Their old crew found Gemini when he was young and naive, back in those early days just after everything had gone to shit, and Joe had ushered him under his wing immediately. Gemini was almost fifty now, last Judge checked, and his looks had followed him, but he’d lost his innocence years ago. All Judge could see were gears turning inside that beautiful skull of his, calculating, assessing, peeling away Judge’s layers, working to expose the truth. 

“You heard what I said,” Judge countered challengingly, narrowing his eyes. He was being caught in a lie, but he wasn’t about to make it easy for Gemini. 

“Yeah, I heard you. But where is he?” Gemini asked.

“In his quarters, where else?” Judge replied evenly, and Gemini fell silent, casting his gaze back to his crew briefly. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he huffed softly under his dust rag, but his eyes betrayed some of his worry. It wasn’t hard for Judge to figure why. Being Joe’s favorite came with “perks” that he was certain the women in charge would fault Gemini for. His looks and his health were a tool that Joe had used often. Gemini’s survival hinged on the opinion of the Milk Mothers, the breeding stock, the women Joe forced him upon. Gemini had been one of Joe’s favorite studs, after all. Whether he’d liked it or not. And some men had definitely liked it.

Gemini returned to his crew, and Judge knew he was telling them to keep eyes on. Gemini hadn’t been fooled. The man was too sharp to trust Judge’s words, and perhaps something betrayed the truth, some miniscule detail that Gemini caught before Judge spoke with him that had put him on high alert. Something that Secundus missed. 

The men at the lift settled in for the long haul, finding comfortable spots to rest their weary bodies. The injured were hustled off to the bloodshed to be treated as best they could by the redthumbs working there. Judge sent pups to fetch buckets of cola for the men to replenish their canteens. They would behave better with the cruel grip of thirst sated, and keeping the War Boys calm was crucial. 

It didn’t take long before another pup came running back from the tunnels to deliver a message to Judge. One of Corpus’s attendants, maybe. It was difficult to tell, shorn and painted. He dipped his head as far as his stiff spine could manage to receive the boy’s whispered message, who stood on tiptoes in turn to reach. 

“The Wives want Imperator Gemini now. And they want you to come too,” the boy said, eyes wide. He was following the orders of someone new, someone he wasn’t sure he could trust, so Judge patted the child’s shorn head with one massive callused hand and watched some of that uncertainty melt away with the approval of someone familiar. 

“Thank you, pup,” Judge told him, sending him off. 

The pup’s arrival had caught the attention of Gemini and his crew. They were watching him apprehensively now. 

“Imperator Gemini, come with me! Crew, head for your garage and stay there,” Judge bellowed, the thunder of his voice spurring the War Boys into action. They rallied fast, eager to be off the lift.

Gemini broke off from his crew, and to Judge’s irritation his crew lead came with him, a stubborn set to his jaw that suggested he wouldn’t be budged from Gemini’s side. Loyal to a fault. Like a perfect soldier. 

“You stay with the crew,” Judge tried anyway, seeing Scratch’s face twist with anger. Gemini, at the very least, had the good grace to look what Judge assumed was apologetic behind his dust wrap. 

“Crew’s fine. ‘M stayin’,” Scratch snarled. His voice was ragged, each word torn violently from a throat ravaged by far more than just the dust of the road and the violence in his tone. 

Judge blew a sigh through his crooked nose and turned away, motioning with a hand for the two to follow him through the tunnels. He could only hope bringing an additional War Boy wasn’t something the women would shoot him over. 

They walked in silence for a good while, and Judge was unwilling to break it.

“Judge, don’t lie to me.” Gemini said at last, defeated as they traversed a particularly uninhabited corridor, tired and resigned. “Just… tell me the truth, please. I’m going to be killed aren’t I?” Judge could tell both Gemini and Scratch had stopped walking, and with a huff, Judge turned to face them. 

Gemini had pulled down his dust wrap at last. Evidently he was past the need for concealing his facial expressions behind a mask. Those big green eyes shimmering with unshed tears nearly made Judge scowl on principle alone. Gemini always did cry so prettily. Joe would give him almost anything he asked if he cried for him like that, _almost_ , but it wouldn’t be enough to budge a woman like Furiosa. The man was as good as dead, like Secundus undoubtedly was, or would be soon. 

Scratch was almost hiding behind his Imperator, as if hoping his silent presence would be forgotten, giving him an advantage in the fight he clearly expected to happen at any moment. The man was practically shivering where he stood with anxious energy. 

“That’s for the women to decide,” Judge told him simply, blunt and honest, as Gemini asked him to be, and he swore he saw Gemini turn a shade paler at his words. Judge could see the young man he’d met decades ago in those eyes, scared and alone, searching for some stability in a world suddenly gone mad. The man he was before Joe had ruined him forever. 

Judge felt downright ancient, looking at Gemini then. Older than he’d felt when he’d watched as a man who, in another life had been a friend, was torn apart by a starving crowd. Joe’s death had been the end of a nightmare. This was awakening to the harsh reality he’d fallen asleep to escape from. 

“We have to go, Gemini,” Judge told him gravely, watching as Gemini pulled the dust wrap back over his face and moved to follow. 

Their walk was silent afterwards, the air around them heavy. Gemini wasn’t shocked to see Mel waiting for them just outside Corpus’s rooms, and Mel took his calm in stride. 

“Boys, come with me,” she said, jerking her head further down the stone corridor, carrying her rifle tight to her side, ready to be brought up at a moment’s notice if necessary. Judge stood aside to let Gemini pass, Scratch practically glued to his side. He picked up the rear and Scratch glanced over his shoulder at him, not so surreptitiously wrapping a hand around one of the handles of his knives, hooking the fingers of his free hand into Gemini’s belt.

Judge hadn’t visited the Immortan’s tower much in the past few years. He’d been trusted to perform his work without Joe breathing down his neck and, by design, claimed a room in the War Tower for himself far from the insidious politics and schemes Joe led. The layout of this tower was unfamiliar to him, he had no way of knowing where they were being taken. If he wasn’t also to be killed, he might need a pup to walk him back. 

In front of him, Gemini came to an abrupt halt, freezing so suddenly that Judge nearly collided with Scratch’s back. They had reached a heavy, wooden door with the remains of an impressive iron bar built into the outside that looked as though it had been violently removed very recently. Judge had never seen this door before, he couldn’t guess as to what might lay beyond it. 

“Judge, wait here,” Mel ordered. “And your odd friend. He stays here too.” Judge saw Scratch bristle, his shoulders tensing. His mouth snapped shut on the growl tearing its way up his ruined throat, his hand flexing on the handle of his knife. Judge stepped forward quickly, intercepting Scratch’s aggressive lunge with a thick arm thrown across his chest.

“I’m not leaving!” Scratch snarled, digging blunt nails into Judge’s forearm and throwing a sharp elbow back to catch Judge in the ribs. His breath caught, but he held firm, trapping Scratch in the bend of his arm.

“Scratch please,” Gemini pleaded, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “Just wait outside,” he told Scratch softly, prying Scratch’s fingers from his belt and stepping out of his reach. Judge caught Scratch’s wrist before he could draw the knife at his belt, restraining the man as best he could. “Take care of the crew,” Gemini said. Behind the dust wrap his eyes were wide and his hands were shaking as he turned to face the door Mel stood beside.

She knocked a peculiar rhythm and the door was opened. Judge glimpsed soft bodies and round faces behind gossamer veils in the brief glance he’d gotten before Scratch’s struggling intensified, forcing his attention back to the man. 

Gemini gave one last look over his shoulder at them before allowing himself to be nudged into the room by the barrel of Mel’s rifle, and the door swung shut.

“Boss!” Scratch’s voice broke like glass when he tried to raise it past a dull roar, stricken with anger. Judge twisted the arm that gripped the knife up behind Scratch’s back and shoved him into the nearby wall, freeing an arm in time to counter Scratch’s other hand which had gone for yet another blade. “Judge! Let me go! They’ll kill him!” Scratch all but howled as much as his throat would allow, the result being a dry, impotent cry. 

“Cool off, you aren’t helping your boss’s case,” Judge barked back, standing firm as Scratch kicked and flailed. He was trying to hook an ankle around Judge’s leg to pull it out from under him, but he didn’t have the strength or the leverage. Judge simply bent his knees and widened his stance. 

Scratch wasn’t even in the same weight class, he didn’t stand a chance at moving Judge, but he fought and howled anyway, tossing his head back to try and catch Judge’s face with the back of his skull, struggling until Judge worried he might injure the arm being twisted behind his back. With a snarl, Judge tore Scratch away from the wall and threw him into the ground, flattening him with his considerable bulk. He pinned Scratch’s wrists to the floor and braced a knee against the center of his back, right between the shoulder blades. He kicked and wheezed but couldn’t throw Judge off.

“I said _cool off_ ,” Judge spat, feeling spittle escape where his lips were split by a scar. Beneath him Scratch was growling like a cornered animal, fighting for breath and using what little air he had to hiss and snarl futilely. A fractured “boss” escaped his dry lips, his wild eyes fixed on the door. 

“You can’t help him like this, use your head,” Judge said in an attempt at a softer voice, feeling Scratch slowly start to go slack underneath him. Carefully, Judge eased his knee off of the man and Scratch stayed down, breathing raggedly. The stone beneath his face was damp from what Judge could now see were tears streaming silently down his cheeks. “I’m letting you up. Put the knife away and we can forget what’s happened, yeah?” 

Scratch jerked his head in a shaky nod and Judge helped him upright. The knife was returned to its hilt and Scratch sat with wet eyes staring unblinkingly at the door in front of them. Loyal to a fault… Judge almost hoped, for his sake, that Gemini would survive. Wordlessly, he tugged his black imperator’s dust wrap from one of his pockets and held it up in front of Scratch’s nose. 

“Fix yourself up,” he ordered, and Scratch accepted the dust wrap with a moment's hesitation before dabbing his face dry, careful not to wipe away his paint. 

Behind the door all was silent. Judge couldn’t hear a thing. He wasn’t sure whether this was a comfort or not. No gunshots thus far, that was surely a positive sign. From what Judge had seen, guns and bullets were the bread and butter of those new women. Riflewomen and snipers, death would come swift from them, fast and efficient. At the very least, it was safe to assume that Gemini had not been shot. 

Judge wasn’t sure how long they were made to wait. The crews in their respective garages would be anxious and restless by now. He hoped a messenger pup had been sent to ease their fears at the very least. Nervous War Boys were a dangerous force, and as much as they fought to hide it, they did get scared the same as any man, and when they did, they often reacted unfavorably. But Judge had been told to wait, so Judge would wait. It was the only thing he could do.

He stood with his back pressed to the cool stone with Scratch sitting at his hip, his head lowered, forehead pressed to his knees, pillowed by his folded arms, shivering occasionally. When the door finally creaked and opened, Scratch was on his feet in seconds and Judge put out a steadying hand, gripping his arm in a silent warning not to cause trouble.

Gemini emerged, silent and pale, his eyes fixed on the floor, with Mel following close behind. 

“Your boyo done with his tantrum?” She asked, peering past Gemini to inspect Scratch with a critical look on her face. Judge gave a grunt of affirmation, nodding brusquely, and Mel’s expression softened as she nudged Gemini out of the doorway with the butt of her rifle. “Good, good. You lot can go. And Judge? We need someone to deal with Secundus’s men. See to it they behave, yeah?” She added before shutting the door. Judge heard the sound of a lock sliding into place and let out a gusty sigh, feeling his shoulders unknot. 

Without warning Gemini staggered sideways and hit the wall, arms slipping from Scratch’s attempt to catch him and sliding to the ground. He curled in on himself then, shaking violently, bringing his knees up to his chest, his shoulders shuddering with each breath he took. Scratch hovered over him uncertainly. Judge felt his knees twinge as he dropped to a crouch in front of him, frowning. 

“Gemini?” He placed a hand on his shoulder, scanning what skin he could see quickly for injuries and finding nothing. He’d left the room unscathed. The lucky bastard. But while Judge had no way of knowing right then what had taken place behind that door, it was clear that whatever happened had wrecked him. And evidently they would be made to wait until Gemini regained his composure.

“You’re fine mate, come on, up you get.” Judge’s words fell on deaf ears. Silently, Scratch took a seat behind his Imperator, pressing his weight into Gemini’s back comfortingly and Judge allowed his hand to linger on Gemini’s shoulder for a while longer. 

“Thank god Joe is dead,” Gemini said softly at last, his voice wracked with tremors as he buried his face in his hands and started to sob. He was ugly for once in his misery, and Judge almost smiled, content to wait in that corridor just a little while longer.

“Glad to have you back, Gem,” he told him.


End file.
